I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Chapter 622: Enslaved Hera (2)

"Three years," he said quietly, voice low and smooth, carrying that new, velvet-edged with amusement. "Three years to the day, Hera. Look at you now."

His golden gaze slid over her—disheveled hair, torn chiton, the faint tremble of exhaustion she could not quite hide.

"You used to spit venom every time I entered this chamber. Curses so creative I almost took notes. And now..." He let the silence stretch. "Now you’ve grown almost... meek. Though that glare of yours—" His lips curved, slow and mocking. "—still has teeth."

Hera’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

"I am going to kill you," she snarled, voice shaking with the force of her promise. "I will rip that smug soul from your body and scatter it across the void."

Nathan’s smile only deepened.

"You’ve been promising me that same sweet death for three years now." He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against the bars with casual arrogance. "And yet... here I stand. Breathing. Whole. Unkilled."

He let the words hang a moment before delivering the quiet, killing blow:

"Or perhaps this darkness has finally softened your mind. Have you forgotten, Hera? If I die—" His voice dropped to something almost intimate. "—you die with me. The Forbidden Seal does not forgive. It does not forget. It simply binds."

Hera bit the inside of her lip until copper flooded her tongue. The memory of that night—the searing pain as the seal branded itself into her essence, the sickening lurch as her immortality tethered itself to his heartbeat—slammed back into her like a physical wound.

She said nothing.

Nathan straightened.

"So," he continued, tone deceptively light, "have you finally made your choice? Will you submit?"

Silence.

He sighed, theatrical, disappointed.

"All I’ve ever asked is a gesture. A token. Proof of good faith." His fingers moved to the laces of his trousers with unhurried confidence. "I told you from the beginning, Hera. The key to your freedom is trust. And trust... must be earned."

"Show me some goodwill, Hera," he said, voice velvet over steel. "Kneel properly. Open that proud mouth. And perhaps—one day—I’ll consider loosening one of these chains."

Heat exploded across Hera’s face—fury, shame, twisting together until she could hardly breathe.

"You disgusting human!"

The words tore from Hera’s throat like shrapnel.

Nathan stood motionless before those bars, utterly unperturbed by her venom. If anything, a flicker of cold amusement danced in those impossible eyes of his - eyes that were neither fully human nor entirely demonic, but something far more dangerous. The golden irises seemed to glow faintly in the dim torchlight, predatory and ancient despite the relatively young face they inhabited.

He took a step closer to the cell, his movements unhurried, controlled.

"You see, I consider myself a very patient man," Nathan said. "I can wait years, decades, even centuries for the right moment. I understand the value of strategic thinking, of playing the long game."

Another step. The temperature seemed to drop.

"But I have a tendency to lose that patience rather quickly with certain individuals. Specifically, those who make the catastrophically poor decision to attempt my life." His lips curved into something that might have been a smile on anyone else, but on him looked more like a predator baring its teeth. "And when my patience runs out, I don’t believe in second chances. I don’t believe in mercy. And I certainly don’t beat around the bush."

He was close enough now that Hera could see the intricate patterns of power that swirled beneath his skin - demonic markings that pulsed faintly with each heartbeat, ancient sigils that no human should possess.

"Your dear brother Poseidon learned that lesson the hard way," Nathan continued casually. "He’s rotting in the deepest, darkest pit of hell right now."

He paused, letting the words sink in, watching Hera’s face carefully.

The mention of Poseidon’s fate struck Hera clearly. Her eyes flashed with renewed. Her lips parted, a cutting retort already forming, rage and impotent fury all mixing together into something venomous.

She never got the chance to voice it.

Aphrodite, who had been standing behind Nathan with the patient stillness of a cat waiting to pounce, raised both her delicate hands in a graceful gesture. Her movements were almost languid, unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world.

The enchanted chains binding Hera’s wrists flared with sudden, searing magical energy - a brilliant blue-white light that burned without heat but caused pain nonetheless. They yanked backward with brutal force, jerking the proud goddess off balance. Her feet skidded against the stone floor as the chains dragged her across the cell.

She slammed into the far wall with bone-jarring impact, the air forced from her lungs in a sharp exhale. The chains kept pulling, kept tightening, forcing her arms up and back until her wrists were pinned above her head at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. The position left her half-sprawled against the wall, half-kneeling on the cold stone floor, her body twisted and vulnerable.

The chains settled into this new configuration with an almost satisfied click, as if the enchantment itself took pleasure in her discomfort.

Hera gasped for breath, her chest heaving, divine pride warring with the very mortal sensation of pain and humiliation

The cell door swung open with a prolonged groan of ancient metal against stone - as Nathan crossed the threshold, acknowledging him, permitting his entry while remaining fully active against their captive.

He crouched down in front of Hera, bringing himself to her eye level.

His dark demonic golden eyes bored into hers with cold intensity.

Hera didn’t look away, still glaring at him.

"Why do you think I didn’t kill you?" Nathan asked, his voice dropping to a quieter register - somehow more menacing for its softness. "Why do you think I went through all the effort of capturing you alive, of keeping you in this cell for three years, of maintaining these wards and seals and chains?"

He let the question hang in the air between them.

"Perhaps you thought it was for your pretty face?" The suggestion was mocking, insulting. "That I wanted to fuck you? That I saw the legendary beauty of Hera and simply couldn’t resist claiming you for myself like some trophy?"

He gestured toward her chest where the Forbidden Seal rested against her skin - that cursed mark invisible to the eye but always present, always suppressing, always reminding her of her powerlessness. The seal pulsed faintly at his attention, responding to his will like a trained animal.

"If I wanted to fuck you, I could have forced you easily," Nathan continued, his tone shifting to something almost clinical, matter-of-fact. It was the casualness of the statement that made it so chilling. No heat, no passion, no desire - just cold fact. "The seal ensures you have no divine power to stop me. You’re as helpless as any mortal woman right now. Less than, actually, because at least mortal women might have friends or family who would come looking for them."

He paused, letting the full weight of her isolation sink in.

"But I wouldn’t do that. Forcing myself into you doesn’t interest me. Power taken without is hollow against women like you. Empty." His hand reached out almost casually, fingers gripping her chin with just enough force to be uncomfortable without quite crossing into pain. He forced her face to angle up toward his, maintaining that intense eye contact. "I have women already - women who come to me willingly. Eagerly, even. Women who beg for my touch, who compete for my attention, who would do absolutely anything I asked without hesitation."

The truth of his words burned like acid. Hera had seen it herself. Had been forced to witness it for three agonizing years.

"But that doesn’t mean I will treat you gently," Nathan continued, his voice hardening slightly. "That doesn’t mean you’ll be comfortable here. That doesn’t mean this captivity will be pleasant or bearable. The only reason - the only reason - I’m keeping you alive is because you have some potential use to me. Information about Olympus. Leverage against Zeus. Knowledge of divine weaknesses and secrets."

His grip on her chin tightened just slightly.

"And unless you make yourself useful, unless you start providing value beyond the satisfaction I get from seeing you humbled, you might as well rot here until the end of your immortal life. And over the years, as my patience wears thinner and thinner, the way I treat you will only worsen. The accommodations will become less comfortable. The food less palatable. The visits less... civilized."

He leaned in closer, until their faces were mere inches apart.

"So bear that in mind the next time you consider spitting venom at me, goddess."

He released her chin almost dismissively, as if she wasn’t even worth the effort of maintaining contact. He stood smoothly, and turned to leave the cell with the same casual confidence he’d entered with.

"What..."

The word escaped Hera before she could stop herself. It was barely more than a breath, confused and involuntary and absolutely mortifying the moment it left her lips. Her eyes widened slightly in shock at her own response, at the vulnerability she’d just displayed.

Nathan paused mid-stride, one foot already across the threshold of the cell. He glanced back over his shoulder, and that cruel almost-smile returned to his lips - sharper now, more knowing.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice carrying genuine amusement now. "Did you expect something else, perhaps?"

Hera’s face flushed a furious crimson - part rage, part humiliation, part something far more complicated that she absolutely refused to examine or acknowledge. The heat spread from her cheeks down her neck, probably visible even in the dim torchlight.

She jerked her face away violently, refusing to look at him anymore, and bit down hard on her lower lip. Hard enough to taste copper. Hard enough to hurt. Anything to distract from the confusion and shame and that traitorous flutter of... something... that she would not name.

Nathan just turned back around and continued walking, leaving the cell as casually as he’d entered. The door swung shut behind him with another prolonged groan, the wards reactivating with a faint shimmer of blue light.

Aphrodite, who had been watching the entire exchange with obvious delight, giggled - that infuriating, musical sound that somehow managed to be both genuinely beautiful and utterly mocking. It was the laugh of someone who knew exactly what was happening, who could see through all the layers of denial and pride to the uncomfortable truth beneath.

"My, my, Hera," she purred, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Were you actually disappointed just now? Did you miss your regular entertainment?"

She swayed closer to the bars, her hips moving with that exaggerated sensuality that came as naturally to her as breathing. Her perfect features were arranged in an expression of false sympathy.

"How deliciously ironic. The proud Queen of Olympus, feeling let down because she wasn’t forced to watch me fuck her captor. What would Zeus think if he could see you now?"

Before Hera could formulate a response - or decide whether responding would only make things worse - Aphrodite had already turned to follow Nathan, her laughter echoing down the corridor.

Alone again in her cell, Hera sagged against the wall as much as the chains would allow. The truth that Aphrodite had so gleefully pointed out was impossible to escape.

For the last three years of her imprisonment, Nathan’s visits had followed a very specific pattern. A ritual designed specifically to break her.

Each time he came to check on her - to remind her of her captivity, to ask if she was ready to cooperate, to reinforce her powerlessness - he would bring one of his lovers with him. Sometimes it was Aphrodite. Sometimes it was Medea. Sometimes it was Scylla or Charybdis -much to her shock tamed by Nathan.

And he would have them. Right there. In front of Hera’s chained, helpless form.

He would force her to watch it all.

Not with physical restraints - he didn’t need those. He would just use the Forbidden Seal to force her to look at the sex.

For three long years, she had been subjected to this particular form of exquisite torture.

She’d watched Nathan take Aphrodite against the very bars of her cell, the goddess’s perfect breasts pressed against the cold metal, her divine beauty reduced to a panting, moaning mess as he fucked her from behind. She’d heard Aphrodite scream his name over and over until her voice went hoarse, watched her come so hard she couldn’t stand afterward.

The same for Medea, Scylla and Charybdis, different women but the same fierce sex he would have with each of them.

And she’d been forced to watch all of it in excruciating detail.

Forced to see every thrust, every kiss, every orgasm. Forced to hear every moan, every plea, every declaration of devotion. Forced to smell the musk of sex filling her cell, to watch as her prison became their playground.

The worst part - the part that Hera would rather die than admit - was her body’s response.

She’d tried so hard to remain unaffected. Had called upon every ounce of her divine will, her legendary composure, her millennia of experience. She was Hera, for fuck’s sake. Queen of Olympus. She should have been above such base reactions.

But the Forbidden Seal didn’t just suppress her powers and over three years it seemed impossible to fight back.

And her traitorous body had responded despite her mind’s fierce resistance.

She’d felt the unwanted heat building between her thighs as she watched. Felt herself growing wet, her inner walls clenching around nothing, her nipples hardening beneath her robes. Her breathing would change - becoming faster, shallower. Her thighs would press together involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking relief that never came.

And worst of all, sometimes - goddess help her - she would make sounds.

Small sounds. Barely audible. But Nathan always heard them. She could tell by the way his eyes would flick toward her at those moments, by the satisfied smirk that would curve his lips, by the way he would fuck his current partner even harder as if to drive the lesson home.

This could be you. This pleasure could be yours. All you have to do is submit.

So yes, as much as she hated herself for it, some deep, shameful part of her had expected today to follow the same pattern. When Nathan had entered her cell with Aphrodite in tow - the goddess wearing that knowing smile, her clothes already artfully disheveled as if anticipating their imminent removal - Hera had braced herself for the familiar torture.

Had tensed in anticipation of being forced to watch them fuck mere feet from where she knelt in chains.

Had prepared herself mentally for another session of unwanted arousal, of shameful wetness, of desperate, denied need.

And then... nothing.

Nathan had simply talked to her. Threatened her. Reminded her of her powerlessness and his patience. And then left.

No sex. No show. No torture.

Just words and the implicit promise of worse to come if she didn’t cooperate.

The confusion in her voice had been completely genuine. This was the first time in three years that Nathan had visited without following through on that particular ritual.

And goddess help her, she didn’t know which was worse.

Being forced to watch, having her arousal deliberately stoked and then denied, being constantly reminded of the pleasure she could have if she would just surrender?

Or being ignored entirely. Being deemed not even worth the effort of tormenting. Being treated as nothing more than a storage container for potentially useful information, not even significant enough to merit his twisted attention.

Both were forms of torture. Both were designed to break her down, to erode her defenses, to make submission seem like relief rather than defeat.

There was definitely truth to Nathan’s methods. This wasn’t random cruelty. This was psychological warfare of the highest, most sophisticated order.

"Truthfully, I did expect it as well," Aphrodite said, her voice taking on that exaggerated pout as she walked along Nathan. "I’m actually a bit disappointed, Nate. I was very much looking forward to our usual entertainment."

She molded herself more fully against him, her perfect curves fitting against his body.

"Having sex with you is always divine. Literally and figuratively." She punctuated the statement with a grind of her hips against his thigh. "But having sex with you in front of Hera?"

She actually moaned slightly at the thought, her eyes fluttering closed in remembered pleasure.

"That’s something else entirely. That’s transcendent. That’s art."

Her eyes opened again, gleaming with wicked delight.

"I absolutely love that frustrated look she gets. The way her breathing changes even though she’s trying so hard to control it. The way her thighs press together when she’s fighting against her own arousal. The way she bites that lip to keep from making sounds, even though we both know the sounds are building in her throat anyway."

Aphrodite’s hand slid lower on Nathan’s chest, her intentions crystal clear.

"It’s absolutely delicious watching the proud Queen of Olympus slowly break under the weight of her own denied desires. Watching her realize - really, truly realize - that despite all her righteous fury and moral condemnation, despite all her judgment and disgust, her body still responds. Still wants. Still hungers."

"I see it too," Nathan nodded. "I have to thank Agamemnon for that, actually. His twisted hobbies proved unexpectedly useful."

He paused in the corridor, leaning against the cold stone wall as he considered the irony. Agamemnon - that brutal Greek king who had committed so many atrocities during the Trojan War and beyond. One of his more disturbing practices had been drugging his female captives with specially formulated pills designed to artificially heighten their sexual desire and sensitivity. He would keep them in that state for weeks, sometimes months, their bodies betraying them with constant arousal, before finally taking them.

The psychological torture of it was exquisite in its cruelty - making the victims desperate for relief they couldn’t achieve on their own, breaking down their resistance until they would beg for the very touch they despised.

Nathan had learned about these pills from Briseis, one of Agamemnon’s victims who he’d managed to rescue at the last possible moment. She’d been drugged for weeks, her body a constant storm of unwanted need, her mind fragmenting under the relentless assault of chemical arousal.

When she’d finally told him about the pills - sobbing with shame and relief - Nathan’s first instinct had been disgust at Agamemnon’s depravity.

His second instinct had been recognition of a useful tool.

With Aphrodite’s considerable expertise in matters of desire and her knowledge of divine physiology, they’d created a new version of the pills. This iteration was far more subtle, far more insidious. Instead of the overwhelming, obvious effects of Agamemnon’s crude formula, theirs worked slowly, incrementally, building arousal gradually over months and years.

And they’d dissolved it in water.

The water that was the only thing Hera was allowed to drink in her cell.

She had no idea, of course. How could she? The formula was tasteless, odorless, completely undetectable. She drank it thinking it was simply purified water, never suspecting that with each swallow she was dosing herself with arousal-enhancing compounds specifically designed to work on divine physiology.

Every cup of water made her slightly more sensitive. Slightly more responsive. Slightly more prone to arousal.

And she’d been drinking it for three years.

Three years of steady, accumulated dosing while simultaneously being forced to watch Nathan fuck other women in front of her. Three years of her body being chemically primed for arousal while her mind was being psychologically conditioned to associate his presence, his scent, his voice with sexual pleasure.

Even a goddess as strong-willed as Hera couldn’t resist that kind of sustained assault forever.

"But she is resisting well," Aphrodite observed, genuine admiration coloring her voice despite her obvious desire to see Hera broken. "As expected, really."

"She is," Nathan agreed with a slight nod, frustration evident in his tone.

Three damn years.

Three years of careful planning, meticulous execution, psychological manipulation, and chemical conditioning.

And Hera still hadn’t submitted to him.

Oh, he could see the effects. Could see how her breathing changed when he entered the room now. Could smell her arousal when he got close enough. Could see the way her pupils dilated, the way her thighs pressed together, the subtle signs that her body was responding exactly as intended.

But her mind - that proud, ancient, powerful mind - continued to resist.

He should have expected as much from the Queen of Olympus. Hera hadn’t maintained her position for millennia by being weak-willed or easily broken. She had survived Zeus’s countless infidelities, had waged wars against his bastard children, had plotted and schemed and endured for longer than most civilizations had existed.

She had a mind like forged steel.

But that was also precisely why he’d set such specific conditions for her submission. He wouldn’t believe mere words from a goddess like her - she was too clever, too experienced at manipulation herself. He knew she could fake surrender, could pretend to submit while secretly planning betrayal.

No, he needed something more concrete. Something that would represent a genuine breaking of her pride.

That’s why he’d told her - during one of their earlier encounters - that her submission would begin with a simple act: sucking his cock.

Not sex. Not even touching. Just that one specific act of degradation.

Because if the proud Queen of Olympus - she who had condemned countless mortals and gods alike for their sexual impropriety, who had positioned herself as the ultimate arbiter of marital fidelity and moral righteousness - willingly dropped to her knees and took a demon-blooded mortal’s cock into her divine mouth?

That would be real submission.

That would be the beginning of her true breaking.

He’d been warned about this, actually. Khione, Amaterasu, and Aphrodite had all cautioned him that Hera would be different from his other conquests. Especially Khione and Amaterasu - both goddesses who had been enslaved by Nathan themselves, who understood intimately how his particular brand of domination worked - had told him explicitly that Hera would require a different approach.

Three years later, Nathan understood exactly what they’d meant.

Breaking Hera wasn’t like breaking other goddesses. It wasn’t about finding a weakness and exploiting it. It was about creating the weakness first, then slowly, methodically widening it until the entire structure collapsed.

It was psychological architecture of the highest order.

But today - today he’d seen something that told him he was on the right path.

That single word: "What..."

The confusion in her voice when he’d left without their usual sexual display. The way her face had flushed not just with anger but with something else. The unconscious disappointment that she’d tried and failed to hide.

She was beginning to associate his visits with arousal. Beginning to expect - maybe even anticipate - the sexual torture. Her body and mind were being conditioned together, the chemical and psychological elements working in perfect synchronization.